Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8KKZ85WNN332E9X2PQZHD

Molly adjusted her tiara in the van’s grimy rearview mirror while Bill fumbled with a neon fanny pack labeled *“Pajama Party Patrol.”* “You’re sure this is a ‘soft target’?” Bill asked, holding up a blow-up flamingo he was supposed to use as a distraction. “Those kids can’t even tie their shoes. How hard can it be?” Molly snapped, tossing a glittery party horn at his head. It missed and deflated his flamingo. “Hard enough when you’re trying not to get puked on by a 4-year-old with a sugar hangover. Remember the Great Cupcake Caper?” Bill groaned. “I still have nightmares about that buttercream beard. You know, if I’d known the FBI was tracking that gluten-free pastry cart, I’d have skipped the raspberry filling.” “Focus,” Molly said, pointing at the suburban house through the fogged-up window. “We hit the gift table first. Twinkle the lights, disable the security system, and vanish before the piñata’s empty.” Bill squinted. “Wait, there’s a security system? I assumed it was just a mom with a smartphone.” Molly’s eye twitched. “Yes, *and* a motion sensor connected to a drone. The last guy who tried this got footage of his face uploaded to Facebook Live. Still going strong.” Bill tugged at his costume, which featured a sequined dinosaur tail. “Maybe we pretend we’re part of the party?” Molly snorted. “You? In a T-Rex onesie? You’ll be ‘T-Rex who took the mickey out of the cake decorator’s eye.’” “What if I juggle noisemakers?” Bill offered. “Oh sure, because nothing says ‘trust me’ like a guy hurling squeaky toys at screaming toddlers.” The van shuddered as Bill accidentally hit the gas. “Alright,” Molly hissed, slapping the door handle, “you’re the ‘innocuous’ one. I’m the ‘mastermind.’ You handle the balloons and—*wait*, why are we at a *Mario Kart* themed party again?” “Because it’s loaded with Nintendo Switches? And that one parent who’s a *lifer* probably has a safe full of rare Funko Pops?” Bill replied, grinning. “Exactly. Now stop talking and open the emergency balloon launch—” “Oh right!” Bill yanked a lever, deploying a tangle of rubber balloons that immediately constricted his neck. Molly yanked them off as he choked. “That was the *intended* method for entry?” Molly smirked. “Nah. That’s just your distraction. You’re supposed to ‘accidentally’ inflate them, cause a blackout, and then I hit the vault.” “The… balloon tower is the vault?” Bill gestured at the house’s backyard, where a 10-foot structure loomed. “No, you dork. The* storage shed*. Where they stash the loot until the cake. Now shut up before I stuff you in a confetti cannon.” They crept toward the fence, Molly in a unicorn costume that itched like a plague, Bill trailing with the squawking blow-up flamingo. “Why’s it talking?” Bill asked. “You bought *talking* inflatables? This thing just said ‘RAAAWR’ at a kid.” “Because I’m a genius. That’s* my* distraction. You’re the decoy.” Molly shoved him forward. He tripped over a garden gnome, which inexplicably sprouted a GoPro. “Security camera!” he yelped. Molly yanked him up. “Clown surveillance. It’s just documenting your incompetence.” As the birthday song blared, Molly slid under the fence while Bill tossed the flamingo at a toddler, shouting, “It’s, uh… part of the *enrichment program*!” Inside, Molly snuck past bounce houses and glitter cannons, only to find the storage shed locked with a keypad. “Why isn’t this a dial-up password or something?” she muttered, fishing out a hairpin. Bill’s head popped through the window. “What’s the code?” “Duh. Look at the mom. She’s got it on her ‘Best Mom Ever’ T-shirt.” Bill squinted. “It says ‘Kisses123.’” “Try ‘Kisses123.’” The door clicked open. They high-fived, then froze as a toddler tackle-hugged Molly’s unicorn head. “You’re sparkly!” the kid yelled. “Yeah, so’s your future,” Molly said, prying free. “Bill, *disable the drone*.” Bill sprinted to the drone, which was now filming him and chanting “BAD TWINKIE” from earlier. He fumbled its batteries, accidentally triggering it to release 500 rubber chickens. “How?” Molly shrieked. “I think I hugged it!” The chickens pelted her as she stuffed presents into a diaper bag. “Just grab the Funko Pops!” Suddenly, the shed exploded with confetti. The dad had reprogrammed the motion sensor. “We’re out of time!” Molly hissed. Bill yanked a string, unleashing a fog machine. “You said ‘if we’re stuck, use the fog for dramatic effect,’” he said, coughing. “Right, and* don’t let the kids see you’re coughing up glitter*. Now move!” They bolted as the parents yelled, “Who let the balloon guy in here?!” Molly slid into the van first, slamming the door as Bill lunged with the loot, then froze. “What?” he asked. She pointed at his sequined tail, now wedged in the door. They sat in silence as the horn inflated behind him. “Twinkle, Twinkle, you klutzy mother—” Bill yelped as glitter rained down from the unicorn head. Molly snorted. “Facebook Live is gonna* love* this.”